Forgotten Heros

by kashkow

Okay, I may be stretching reality here, but then I know what happens in the story was done in the Civil war era, and bureaucracy being what it is, things linger. takes place between Greatest Gift and War Games, but you do not have to read them in order.

Forgotten Heroes

By Ellen H.

Chapter 1

Former Master Chief Hal O'Bannon pulled to a stop at the sign and watched as a man stepped out of the small guardhouse. The guard, dressed in a dark blue, uniform carefully studied the car before approaching. O'Bannon noticed that the man was armed, and also he appeared to be not far from his own age, well past that of retirement usually. Not that he had come to expect the usual from the people associated with this place, quite the contrary. As he waited for the guard to approach he let his focus shift for a moment to the buildings he could see through the chain link fencing.

The Nelson Institute of Marine Research was an impressive sight, even though he knew he could only see part of it from here, and knew that the most impressive thing about the place was not something that the average person got to see up close. He had been privileged to see it though. The Seaview, massive brainchild of Admiral Nelson, had been an awe-inspiring sight at sea, and he could not wait to see her up close and in person. He hoped he would be able to do so now, and that the man who had made it possible for him to see her that one time would be able to give him the tour. He rolled down the window, and smiled at the guard.

"Hello, sir. Can I help you?" the guard asked with a polite smile. He was carrying a clipboard with several pages attached, and O'Bannon was sure that it was a list of expected and cleared visitors. Unfortunately he was neither.

He had ended up here in Santa Barbara on the spur of the moment, and since he had time on his hands before he could go back to the hospital, he had thought of coming here. Also, he needed to see something, someone, who spoke of youth and life. He had seen too much of age and death this day. When he had left the hospital he had been lost, not knowing where he should turn. The thought of food turned his stomach, and he knew that if he should go to a bar he would be hard pressed not to seek the oblivion of the drink. But he had responsibilities and he would not shirk them. Too many had turned their backs on the man, and he would not be one of them. Standing there outside the hospital, a gentle rain falling on his hunched shoulders he had suddenly had a vision of a slim figure dressed in Navy fatigues, leaning on the conning tower of a submarine twice his age, and glorying in the feel of her, despite the rain pouring down on him. He had thought of Lee Crane, and something had made him want to see that young man again, to be in the presence of that enthusiasm for life. So he made his way to the Institute with the hope that the Seaview was in port, and that her captain would be able to spare a few moments for an old seadog that needed a moral boost in the worst way.

He shook himself from his thoughts to answer the guard's question. "My name is O'Bannon, Hal O'Bannon. I'm a…friend of Commander Crane. He's not expecting me, but I was hoping that he was here. Would it be possible for you to check?" He felt the guard's eyes going over him, no doubt vaguely suspicious. He had reason to know that the young man was not always "just" the captain of the Seaview or a commander in the Naval Reserve. Sometimes he did other things, things that he couldn't speak of, things that made it possible that enemies might come calling. Whatever the guard was looking for he must have seen, because he nodded slightly.

"Could I see some ID, sir?" he asked. He studied the license that O'Bannon provided closely, noting the information on his clipboard. The guard handed the ID back and stepped away from the car. "I'll have to call and see if the commander is available. Could you please wait here?" He disappeared back into the guard shack, and O'Bannon sat waiting for an answer. He felt the despair growing inside him again, and beat it down, hoping that the guard would be swift. He didn't have an alternate plan if Crane was gone, but he would have to do something to pass the time, anything to get his mind off it.

In just a little over five minutes the guard was back, a more genuine smile on his face. "Commander Crane's office says that they have standing orders that you are to be allowed in, sir. The commander is down at the sub pen. A security man will be here to take you down in just a moment. You can park your car over there." He indicated a small parking lot just inside the gate, and stepped back to activate a button that raised the barrier. O'Bannon waved a hand in thanks and steered the car forward into the lot, parking among the other cars that were there.

Once he got out he realized that he could now see most of the grounds of the Institute from this raised area that acted almost as a vista point. There were numerous buildings, most three to four stories tall, and several smaller one-story buildings. The buildings were separated by patches of grass with concrete sidewalks winding among them, and he could see that the area was lushly landscaped. No expense had been spared it seemed to make the Institute a welcome and beautiful place. He had met Nelson only once, and that had not been under the best of circumstances, but he had heard stories about the Admiral almost the entire time he had been in the Navy. He had been called difficult, tyrannical, a perfectionist, a genius. O'Bannon had seen him in passing in his capacity as an aide to another admiral, but had never served under him directly. His most clear picture of the man came not from direct experience, but instead through the eyes of someone whose opinion he had come to value very much. Lee Crane thought the sun rose and set on the other man, and O'Bannon was prepared to believe it for the young man's sake.

He was shaken from his thoughts again as a man pulled up beside him in a golf cart. He was too much in his thoughts, and he looked forward to getting away from them. The man introduced himself as Hobart Tindle, and asked O'Bannon to get in the cart. O'Bannon noted that this young man, like the guard, was armed, and looked more than capable of taking care of himself, even without the weapon. Tindle pointed out several points of interest as they passed, giving O'Bannon a better idea of what each building was for. He noted the careful omission of information on several buildings, but did not ask questions. They were soon heading down a short hill into what he could see was a docking area.

In that dock was the Seaview, rocking gently in the swells. As they came to a stop O'Bannon realized that the one thing he wasn't seeing here on the quayside, or anywhere around the Institute grounds were men that he would call sailors. He recalled that most of the crewmen of the great boat wore jumpsuits of one color or another, and he had seen none of them as they had passed through the grounds even though there were many other people moving around. Other than a guard in a small hut at the head of the dock, there was no one here either.

"I'm not seeing any of the crew, at least not in their regular outfits. Do they wear civvies when they are in port?" he asked of Tindle. The guard shook his head.

"No. When they are on duty everyone is in jumpsuits, or at the least, dungarees. The reason you aren't seeing anyone is that everyone is on shore leave, at least almost everyone. There's an anchor watch, of course, but they are working on board. They've been notified that we're coming, and someone should meet us at the gangplank." As he finished O'Bannon saw a man in dungarees come out the lower hatch, and approach the gangplank.

The guard drew to a halt at the dock end of the plank and motioned for O'Bannon to step out. "This is as far as I take you, sir. Hodges here will escort you to the commander." O'Bannon thanked him and got out, moving slowly down the gangplank to the waiting crewman. He had to mentally stop himself from saluting the colors, knowing that it would probably look a little odd to the seaman from an old man in civilian cloths. The seaman in question smiled at him.

"If you'll come with me sir, the skipper asked me to bring you below. He's kinda tied up right now." The young man said. With a nod from O'Bannon he led the way down the main access ladder, and O'Bannon climbed down to find himself in a control room unlike any he had ever seen. This was massive! If he hadn't just climbed down a ladder through a sail, he would think he was on the bridge of almost any large surface vessel. And there, at the bow were the windows he had heard so much about. He had of course seen the Seaview from the outside, and even from that angle the windows had been fascinating, but this was impressive! He could only imagine what they looked like from within when she was underway.

Before he could look his fill Hodges directed him aft into a huge corridor that seemed to go on forever. It was easily twice as wide as those on any submarine he had ever served on. His guide pointed out some areas as they moved aft, finally bringing him into what he easily recognized as an engine room, even though it was well beyond anything that he had ever dealt with. He could recognize the dynamos, and the usual array of pipes, but after that he was lost among the various board and strange machines. He was diverted from his wonderings by the sight of several men hunched over what appeared to be an access hatch. As they approached they heard a faint shout from below, and a young blond man poked his head up through the hatch.

"The Skipper got it! I told you guys he'd find it in less than twenty minutes. You all owe me five…" He broke off as he realized they had company, and the others turned to look at what had made him stop. The other three men straightened as Hodges stepped forward.

"The Skipper said I should meet Mr. O'Bannon and bring him down. Is he almost finished? I thought that pump was burned out."

The blond man levered himself out of the hatch and reached for a toolkit that was sitting nearby. He shook his head. "It isn't burned out, it just has a bad rotor. We can replace it in ten minutes once we get it opened up. The skipper will be up in a minute, he wanted to take a look at the other two pumps since they were from the same lot. He said he really didn't feel like doing this at a thousand feet next cruise out." The men shared a smile, and one after the other followed the blond down the hatch. Hodges, still smiling, looked at O'Bannon.

"Anything that goes wrong with the Seaview you can bet the skipper can find it faster than anyone. Even the Cheng can 't hunt down a bug in the works like he can. The chief say the skipper knows every rivet on the boat." He said proudly. O'Bannon had to hide a smile. It really came as no surprise that Lee Crane had the complete loyalty and devotion of his crew. O'Bannon had seen the same loyalty form with the crew of the Triggerfish. As he was nodding to the young man he saw a dark-haired head poke up through the hatch, and knew that he would soon have to explain why he was here, taking this man away from his work. With little more than a lithe push the slim figure he remembered was standing before him.

Lee Crane was much as he remembered him. Slim and trim, the young man had an olive complexion and intense golden eyes. He was currently wearing the same dungarees and blue shirt that the rest of the men were wearing, and if he hadn't known him, O'Bannon would have easily thought him one of the crew instead of the captain. The smear of grease across one cheek, the dungarees wet to the knee, and the dirty hands certainly weren't what O'Bannon had ever expected of one of his officers. His had been good ones for the most part, but this young man, ridiculously young for the responsibilities that seemed to rest on his shoulders, seemed to be at a completely different level. Crane pulled a rag out of his back pocket and wiped at his hands. A smile lit his face as he offered the now clean hand to O'Bannon.

"Master Chief, it's great to see you! Why didn't you let me know you were coming? I could have arranged to meet you at my office and we could have done the tour in style. As it is..." He motioned to himself and shrugged.

O'Bannon waved it off. "Ain't here to see your clothes, Boyo. I'm here to see your Lady, and from what I've seen so far she's a fine lass. Will you show an old seadog around your boat, captain?" he said. He thought that Crane gave him a strange look, but he said nothing. The young captain turned and said something down the hatch to the men who were working there, and looked at Hodges.

"Go back to your duty station, Hodges. I'll take care of Chief O'Bannon from here." He said to the seaman who nodded and disappeared down the corridor. Crane turned back to O'Bannon. "Since we're here we might as well start here and work our way forward" He motioned toward the hatch, and so the tour began.

Almost an hour later O'Bannon sat on the bunk in Crane's incredibly spacious quarters and reviewed what he had seen. There had been certain parts of the boat that he had not been able to see, but what he had seen was enough. The boat was as marvel, and he could understand now why Crane had been so angry before when he had been beached because of his wound. The love the young captain had for his boat shone in every word that he said about her. That he did indeed know every rivet of her O'Bannon had no doubt.

O'Bannon had found out in the process that the crew was indeed on shore leave, which was where Crane was supposed to be, but the ones that would normally run him off were not there. Nelson was in Washington, and Chip Morton, Crane's closest friend, was back home attending the wedding of a close boyhood friend. Crane had been invited to go along with both, and had refused, saying he had plans. O'Bannon suspected that the plans had simply involved staying on the boat and tinkering with her. When he had put forth this suspicion, Crane had merely grinned.

O'Bannon took a deep breath and leaned against the bulkhead. The younger man was taking a quick shower and had said something about going and getting dinner. O'Bannon was tired. He had not thought about it before, but he had been up for well over 24 hours now with only some dozing in a hard chair through the night. He closed his eyes for just a moment, letting the peace of this boat fill him. The last two days had been hectic, and terribly sad, and this was an oasis of quiet in that time. He never knew exactly when he fell asleep.

Chapter 2-

In his dream the smell was from the dinner that his mother was about to put on the table. He had just sat down at the family diner table, but as he looked to his left it wasn't his brother Pat who was sitting there, but was instead one of the men that he had served with on his first submarine. He looked to his left, and instead of his mother coming out of the kitchen with the large tureen of soup, there stood Cookie with a large pot of stew that he sat down in the middle of the table. The table had suddenly become one of the tables in the mess hall of the Triggerfish with his former crew sitting around it. All of them were young and vital. That's what clued him in. He knew he was dreaming, and it startled him awake. But the smell followed him into the waking world, and he opened his eyes to find that he was lying on his side, staring at a gray bulkhead. He slowly became aware that a blanket covered him and his head was on a pillow. How had he…?

He had fallen asleep. Sitting there waiting for Lee Crane, he had fallen asleep, and the boy had obviously laid him down and covered him with a blanket. How tired had he been? The smell of stew was becoming more prevalent, and his stomach growled. He remembered that he hadn't eaten in the last day or so, though he could recall numerous, endless, cups of coffee. He turned over and sat up. He turned his head to find Crane lowering a tray to the desk across the compartment. As O'Bannon sat up the young man looked around at him with a smile.

"Good timing Master Chief. Cookie has had this stew on the stove all day, and it's best eaten while it's hot." He said, removing the lid from the tray. The scent of stew wafted over and O'Bannon's stomach rumbled loudly. Crane smiled at him again. He put one bowl in front of the visitor's chair at his desk and the other in front of his own chair, laying silverware and a napkin beside each. He then went and sat down, looking over at O'Bannon who hadn't moved with a raised eyebrow.

O'Bannon shook his head, shaking off the last of the effects of his nap and the dream. Rising to his feet he was stiff, but at his age that wasn't unusual. He moved to sit in the chair and picked up the spoon and napkin. Crane waited for him to take his first bite and then started his own meal. They ate in silence, both cleaning their bowls and eating the hunks of French bread that was on the side of the plate. Once they were done Crane stacked the plates back on the tray and sat it aside. He leaned back in his chair.

"You want to tell me what's wrong?" he asked, his golden eyes sharp. O'Bannon felt at a distinct disadvantage with his still sleep muzzy head.

"What makes you think something is wrong?" O'Bannon hedged. He really hadn't planned on telling Crane anything. He'd planned to simply take the respite that had been so generously offered months before and then return to his self-imposed responsibilities. Of course he hadn't planned on falling asleep on the lad's bunk, or on the intuition of the young man who was now studying him as if he could read his thoughts. The smile reappeared on Crane's face.

"Well let's see. You show up with no notice, two hundred miles from where you live, driving a rental car, and looking like death warmed over, you fall asleep on my bunk and ate your dinner like you hadn't seen food for a while. Then, for the first time since we met, you actually look your age. If it's personal and you don't want to share, I understand, but if I can, I would like to help."

O'Bannon grimaced at the crack about him looking his age. He had always prided himself on being vigorous for his age, and to find that this had sucked that vigor from him in such a short time was disturbing. Maybe he DID need help. He certainly couldn't go on like he had been. If he hadn't had this place, this man, to run to, he didn't know what he might have done. He sucked in a lungful of air and let it out in a sigh. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the desk and lowering his head into his hands.

"Don't grow old, Boyo." O'Bannon muttered. "They may call it the golden years, but I can tell you for the most part its pig iron all the way. You give everything you had, and they take it, and then you have nothing left when you need it." He lowered his hands and looked at Crane who was studying him seriously.

"What's happened?" he asked. "Is there a problem with the marina or the Triggerfish?" O'Bannon, who had for a moment considered pleading that it was a personal problem, gave up. He needed to share with someone.

"I got a call two days ago from a friend of mine who is in the Vet's hospital near here. We served together, after the Triggerfish, and he knew I would want to know…" He broke off. He had to move. He got to his feet and started pacing back and forth. The formally huge room was now too small to contain the energy he needed to expend.

"He told me that an old friend of ours had been brought into the hospital, and thought I would want to know. I was planning on coming down in a week or two to visit them both and then I got another call. It was my friend again and he said that they were planning on evicting our mutual friend out of the hospital even though he didn't have anywhere to go and he was…dying. He has end-stage lung cancer and they don't expect him to live much longer."

"How could they do that if he's a veteran? Was he dishonorably discharged?" Crane asked with obvious concern.

O'Bannon gave a bitter laugh. "Would that it was that, Boyo, it would be easier to deal with. No, there's another reason that they want him to go, and I don't know what to do. He's too sick for them to move right now, which is the only reason that he's still there, and he may just up and die and solve their problems for them." He stopped as he came to the bulkhead and raised a fist with every intention of slamming it into the hard metal, but he found his fist encased in the hand of the young commander who, evidently reading his intention, had moved swiftly and silently to forestall the action. Crane gave him a grim smile.

"Trust me, the bulkhead always wins and you won't like the doctor on duty in the medical center. The man learned his art under Torquemada, and has little tolerance for self-inflicted wounds." He said. O'Bannon lowered his hand.

"That has the sound of the voice of experience." O'Bannon said, and saw a shamefaced grin pass over Crane's face as he returned to his chair.

"Tell me the story, Hal. I may not be able to help, but I think you need to tell someone."

O'Bannon sat back down and leaned forward, his eyes locked with Crane's. "You're right, I do need to talk, though I didn't mean to when I came. I just needed to get away, and I thought of you here…" he sighed again. This was not going to be easy.

"It all started back after the Triggerfish went down. There was still a year to go with the war, and me and the captain, and most of the guys from the Triggerfish, were in Pearl with the new boat, the Yellowjack. We had some replacements coming on, and one of them was a young black man. There weren't hardly any black men in the sub service at that time. They didn't like to mix the races much back then in enclosed places where there wasn't any type of separation. You couldn't exactly segregate a submarine. He was a cook's mate and his name was Jedediah Blackwell.

"The crew didn't have any problem with him, we had been at sea a long time together, and we had seen things that make you realize that things like what color a man is don't matter much. Besides that, the skipper would have keel hauled any man who did have anything to say about it. He ran a tight ship, and it didn't matter to him what color you were as long as you did your job. In any event, it didn't come up, and Jed, he just fit right in. He took to submarine duty real well. He was steady and calm, and always did his work. He was a youngish-looking man, barely seemed old enough to be in the Navy, but he told everyone he was eighteen. No one thought anything about it at the time. He was tall for a submariner, almost as tall as you, and skinny as toothpick. Couldn't have weighed more than one twenty soaking wet. But he was tough in his own way. Probably had to be what with how things were back in the forties for black people."

O'Bannon found himself on his feet again, pacing back and forth. "In the last months of the war we were in the western Pacific, just short of knocking on Tojo's door. They were desperate, and throwing everything at us they could. By that time they had figured out the subs were the real threat to their remaining navy, and they had basically thrown out the Geneva Convention. We heard that one the subs in our pack was forced to surface by two destroyers. They should have just put the crew adrift and scuttled the boat, or at worst took them prisoner like they did the men on Bataan and the islands. Instead they started firing on her, and wouldn't stop even when the captain ran up a bed sheet on the sail. They got on the light and kept signaling that they surrendered, but they kept firing. The captain finally had no choice but to order abandon ship and the men went over the side in the lifeboats. They fired on them. Every one was killed. One of our other boats got there just as the destroyers were pulling out and found the bodies, riddled with bullet holes. Word made it around real quick that if you were faced with surrendering or fighting to the death you might as well go on and fight it out." He sat down again.

"We got in a bad situation about a month after that. We were stuck in a corner, the destroyer was on us like a starving dog on a bone, and there was no telling if they had called in another ship. We were taking on water in two compartments, but we had them sealed off with the watertights. I can tell you that every man jack of us was thinking about those boys that were killed, but it looked like we were going to have a choice of drowning or being shot. Finally we were stuck on the bottom, sitting there and waiting for them to find us and drop a depth charge down our hatch." He could see that Crane was deeply involved in the story, and knew that the young man knew exactly what the captain and crew must have been feeling.

"All through this Jed was working damage control and still found time to bring iced tea around to everyone. It was hot in there, and the tea went down good. The kid was still smiling and was saying that he wasn't meant to die in no submarine so he knew that we were going to be okay. Finally the destroyer must have figured that we weren't going to make a move or any noise and they started lobbing depth charges at random. Some of them came damn close, and we thought a few times that they were gonna blow us to pieces where we sat. After about two hours someone made a comment about needing some tea, and everybody realized that no one had seen Jed in a while. Wasn't like we could get on the intercom and yell for him, and we were on silent so we didn't want too many folks moving around and making any noise that destroyer could use to zero in on us.

"So the captain says to me, 'Go find out where that boy got off to. I could use another cup of tea myself.' I started looking through each compartment. I took a quick look in the galley but there didn't seem to be anyone there, so I kept looking. I found the Cookie sitting down in the engine room playing poker with the Chief Engineer, and he hadn't seen Jed for almost an hour. I ended up back at the galley finally with no sign of the kid. It wasn't like he coulda got off the boat, so he had to be there somewhere. I was thinking about checking the bilges when I heard a sound. It was like a dog whimpering, or a baby. It was coming from the pantry." O'Bannon was back on his feet and pacing now as he remembered opening that door.

"There was the kid, he was in the corner of the room. One of the pipes had sprung a leak, probably got loosened by one of the near misses. Jed had been in the galley brewing more tea, and had heard it go. Like I said he had been working damage control so he had a pipe clamp with him. He knew he couldn't yell for help, and he also knew he had to get it clamped off. So he went in himself and put on the clamp. It sealed the leak, but when he went to let go, the clamp wouldn't stay on. He had two choices: he could go looking for another clamp, and chance that the leak could get bigger while he looked; or he could hold the thing in place until someone came along that could go get another one. He decided to grab hold. He had to perch on the lowest shelf, and his left hand was up against one of the steam pipes, but he had been holding on for almost an hour when I got there. One of the hydraulic lines was leaking too, and had been dripping on the steam pipe. The whole room was filled with the fumes." O'Bannon shook his head as he remembered what he had seen standing there in that doorway.

"His left hand was burned almost to the bone where it was up against the pipes, and his legs were shaking like a leaf in a high wind. He could barely breath from the fumes. He had tears running down his face, and he had nearly bit through his lower lip to keep quiet. I went and got another clamp as fast as I could, and got him down from there. He couldn't stand up and his hand looked like cooked meat. He was near to coughing up a lung, but trying to keep it quiet. " O'Bannon shook his head. "I had never seen anyone do something like that. He hadn't made so much as a peep until he heard me in the galley. He knew that any kind of noise could have meant them finding us and he stayed quiet, even though he was hanging on with all of his strength and his hand was burning through.

"The destroyer finally gave up on us, either thinking we had gotten away, or that we were done for and not coming up. The captain waited as long as he could after they faded off the sonar, and then he took us up. They were gone and we limped back into port. Poor Jed he had an infection in the hand that the corpsman did his best to control, but there was only so much he could do. And his lungs…he had a nasty case of pneumonia building up. Jed nearly begged the captain to let him stay on board. Kept saying as how the hand would clear up anytime, and the cough wasn't anything at all. But the corpsman had made his report. He told the captain that if Jed didn't get treatment he would lose the hand. Still might anyways, but he would lose it for sure if it didn't get treatment, and the pneumonia could kill him. The captain had to order Jed off the boat and sent me along to make sure that he made it to the hospital. He wasn't too happy.

"The Yellowjack got refitted pretty quick. They needed every boat they could get out there, and we got top priority. Jed was in the hospital when we left, he was begging us to take him with us, but they wouldn't let him out. We never did get back there. We ended up being moved to the North Pacific about two weeks later. The Skipper tried to get some information on him when we were in port again, but there was no information to be had. We didn't think much of it then. Things were a little confused at that time. The skipper went ahead and put in the paperwork for Jed to get a medal, something more than the Purple Heart he already had coming to him. We all just assumed that Jed had gotten well and been reassigned, or if the hand was bad we figured he might get sent back to the states. Kinda of a mixed blessing that.

"I didn't hear the whole story until years later when I met another man who had been on the Yellowjack with us both. He had been in the hospital himself with a pretty bad burn on his back from a steam leak down in the engine room, and he heard the whole thing. It seems that when they got Jed into the hospital the doctor took a look at him and got to wondering about him. They treated the pneumonia okay even though there was some damage to his lungs from the fumes. Don't know why, but I guess the doctor sent for his records. The hand wasn't getting any better, and in the end they had to amputate two of his fingers to keep them from going gangrenous. While he was coming out from under the anesthetic he started crying for his mama and asking her to forgive him for running off to join the Navy like his big brothers had done. Somehow I guess he let it slip that he was only fourteen when he signed up. That meant he wasn't quite sixteen laying there with his hand missing two fingers." O'Bannon sat back in his chair and sighed. "You can imagine the mess that started. Everyone got worked up, and they sent Jed home on the next transport.

"Once the war was over and we were back in the states I tried to get some information on the kid, but I kept getting stonewalled. The skipper got the same thing when he inquired about the medals. He wasn't one to let something like that go when a man deserved recognition, even if the man was a half grown kid from Alabama that had run away from home. The only answer we got back was that as far as the Navy was concerned, Jed Blackwell had never been enlisted. The skipper, he tried to cut through some of the red tape and get it all straightened out, but then he got his new command and…we kinda forgot the kid." O'Bannon shook his head in disgust.

"We didn't see him again until the twenty-fifth reunion. He was still skinny as a rail and didn't look a day older than when we left him in that hospital. At that point the skipper and I were at the Pentagon, him being a Rear Admiral by that time. Jed, he just laughed off the whole thing, saying that the Navy had done him a favor sending him home. His mother had been sick, and with his older brothers still deployed, she had needed someone at home. He was married and his oldest had just had had his first child. He didn't hold any grudge about the Navy wiping out his record and not giving him the medals. He was near on to crying when the skipper mentioned that he had put him in for them. I guess he never really was able to do any really hard work since his lungs wouldn't stand for it. He had been working in a diner, as a short order cook, for most of the time since we had seen him."

O'Bannon stopped and looked around at the clock that hung on the wall. It was after 00 hours, and he had been nattering on for hours it seemed. He looked back at Crane who was sitting there waiting patiently for the rest of the story. O'Bannon knew he wouldn't be able to go back to the hospital until the morning, but the boy might have a thing or two to do, he was after all an important man, and listening to an old sailor relive the past was probably not one of them. Plus that, as he got further into the story the pain started coming back.

"I've taken too much of your time. You probably should be getting to sleep. I'll go and find me a motel, and I'll see you tomorrow. We'll do that dinner, my treat." He stood and started for the door.

A soft, but authoritative, voice stopped him before he could take a second step. "No. Finish the story. I'm not tired and you can use one of the guest cabins." O'Bannon stopped but didn't turn around. He took a deep breath and turned to face the younger man who had come to his feet and moved around the desk.

"It…it isn't easy to talk about. The past…well, that was easy because it was so long ago. But now its…" He stopped, unable to finish for a moment. His eyes met Crane's. He could not be less than honest with this man who had done so much for him. "If you won't let it go, I'll finish." He said reluctantly. He moved back to the chair and Crane rose and came to perch himself on the corner of his desk.

" Then I got the call from my friend yesterday, well, it's the day before yesterday I guess by now. Jed's family, one of his grandkids I guess, had brought him in and left him there. He told everyone that Jed was a vet who was suffering from an old combat injury, and that he was entitled to the services. Jed was in pretty bad shape. It was early in the day when they got there, and the offices weren't open, so they went ahead and admitted him and stabilized his condition as best they could. Meanwhile, his paperwork finally gets to the office, and they start checking, and can't find any record of him having served. They tried to call his kin but the number they had given had been disconnected and when they sent someone around, the people next door said that they had moved, evidently the same day they dropped off Jed. That's when they decided to evict him from the hospital. They were planning on sending him down to one of the city hospitals, the ones that have to take the patients even if they don't have insurance. Indigent, they're calling him, a fancy word for being poor and alone. Then his condition deteriorated and they had to wait. That's where I came in. I've been sitting at his bedside for the last day or so. They finally threw me out when he had to be put in an oxygen tent. Said he would rest better alone. I didn't know what to do, so I came here."

Crane was silent for a long time then he stood and started pacing back and forth. "So, let me see if I have the facts straight. Your shipmate enlisted at fourteen and was assigned to the Yellowjack. I think you could fairly say that he served with distinction during his time aboard, and that he acted with extreme valor in the face of personal danger in order to preserve the lives of his boat and shipmates. Then, when he had been forced to go to the hospital, he had been found to be underage and was summarily discharged and his records were expunged, as if he had never been in the Navy, denying him not only his benefits but also the medals that should have been given to him in gratitude for his sacrifice and bravery. Now, many years later his health is failing and his family has evidently abandoned him and the veterans hospital has decided that he needs to be moved to another facility because they can't find any records that he served." He raised an eyebrow at O'Bannon.

"That's about it in a nutshell." O'Bannon said with a sigh. "It's all so damn depressing. If he goes to the city hospital they'll put him in a ward with the homeless and he'll get little more than basic care. Lord knows I can't afford to pay for anything beyond that. My savings would disappear pretty damn quick, not that I would begrudge it. It just…it just doesn't seem fair. And you know what the worst part is? The part that really gets me down?" Crane shook his head.

"The worst part of the whole thing is that he's alone. His own people brought him there, dumped him like an unwanted dog, and took off, leaving him there alone to die. Even if all they had was the charity hospital, they could have at least been there for him. And..." He broke off, but then continued, determined to get it all out, down to the last shameful thing "and as I sat there, listening to him fight to breath, and watching him fade away, I started thinking that it was going to be me in that bed in a few years, and there isn't going to be anyone there for me either. I don't have a wife, or kids. What friends I have are as old as I am, and are likely to die before I do. I think that was the final blow. I just sat there feeling sorry for him and sorrier for me, and getting more depressed by the minute. I don't know what I can do, for him or for me, but I have to do something." He couldn't look at Crane, ashamed as he was to admit the feelings that had grown in him sitting in that place, watching not only Jed but the others there as well, most of them alone. He was staring at the deck when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder.

"You don't ever have to worry about being alone, Master Chief, I can guarantee you that. Not that you're going to be knocking on death's door any time soon. You're too mean to die." Crane added the last with a smile as O'Bannon looked up at him with a gleam of moisture in his eyes. The younger man lowered his hand to O'Bannon's elbow and guided him to his feet. "Come on. Let me show you to one of the guest cabins. I think you've told me enough for tonight, and the couple of hours you got earlier isn't going to do it." O'Bannon, feeling wrung out from the story, his confession, and the small glow of warmth that started in his heart with Crane's declaration, allowed the young man to lead him a short way down the corridor and to a spacious compartment. He undressed and slid into the bunk, not knowing if he could sleep, but almost as soon as his head hit the pillow he sank into a deep sleep.

Lee Crane hovered outside the door until he heard a slight snore come from within the guest quarters. He smiled gently, remembering the jokes that had been tossed at O'Bannon by his old shipmates about his snoring, and the depth of his sleep. The smile was short lived however as his mind went to the story that O'Bannon had told him. He started back down the corridor to his office, glancing at his watch as he did so. It was almost 0100. He needed to get some sleep, but he wanted to make a few arrangements first. He went into his quarters and sat back behind the desk. He lifted the phone, and waited for someone in the communications department on shore to pick up.

Chapter 3

Crane had just emerged from the head the next morning when his phone buzzed. He threw his towel in the hamper and went to his desk, picking up the handset. "Crane" he said briskly.

"I have Commander Powell for you, sir. The rest of the calls should be going through soon."

"Thanks, Thomson. Shouldn't you be going off duty?" Crane asked with a glance at the clock. It was just after 0600.

"I will be sir, as soon as I can brief my replacement. I have your call list ready for him, and like I said we should be getting some responses soon." Thompson, the night communications man, replied.

"Very well, put Commander Powell through." Crane said and waited for the line to switch. In moments a familiar voice came over the line.

"That you Lee? I hardly could believe it when they told me who it was. Thought you were moving in higher circles now. I'm honored." The voice said with the familiar Texas drawl.

"And so you should be. But even we important people have to talk to the little people every now and then, even if all we're doing is ordering dinner."

"Hey, I only worked the diner during my summer vacations. It was the family business, it wasn't like I could go and do something more macho. We couldn't all sail boats down to the Bahamas and the Keys like some people."

"Well I guess if you don't have the skills you have to take what you can get." The two old friends, classmates at the Naval Academy, shared a laugh at the old joke.

"If I recall, the last time I heard from you it was for something you couldn't tell me the reason for. Is this going to be more of the same? You know we records clerks live vicariously through you field officers, if you aren't going to share, you're going to have to find a new source of information." Powell joked, referring to a time when Crane had used him to find out information on a suspected traitor.

"You haven't ever been a records clerk." Crane pointed out to his friend, who was now partially in charge of Navy personnel records in Washington D.C. Few people knew that he had been a major driving force behind the updating of the computer system used for the complicated job. He had for the last several years been working on the old archived records, getting the paper records copied onto computer.

"Yeah, well, once a paper pusher always a paper pusher, at least that's what I'm told by the rest of our classmates. The same ones who, I might add, were talking about you at the last reunion. You're kind of the darling of the class what with being the captain of the Seaview and all. Too bad you and Chip couldn't make it."

"Next time plan it while we're in port. We were taking samples in the Antarctic. It wasn't like we could just hop a plane."

"You're the captain, can't you borrow the keys to that little yellow thingie of yours and fly in yourself?"

"It doesn't exactly work like that. The Admiral may have something to say about it."

"Grounded huh? I told you to get home by curfew." Powell joked.

"You are not funny Bud, no matter what Lorraine tells you."

"She's a very discerning woman, Lee. She warned me not to hang out with you and Chip. She must know what she's talking about." After that last shot Powell's voice became serious. "I'm sure that you didn't call at this time in the morning to rag on me though. How can I help you?"

"Let me tell you a story, and you tell me how you can help me."

Thirty minutes later he hung up the phone, satisfied with the information he had gotten. Almost as soon as he had sat the phone down it rang again, and he was put through to the next person on his list. He leaned back with a smile and he started to tell the story again.

Former Master Chief Hal O'Bannon had not slept past 0800 in more years than he could remember, no matter how late he had gone to bed. As he rolled over and looked at the clock on the bulkhead across the cabin from his comfortable bunk, he was surprised to see that it was now just after 0900. He stretched, feeling his muscles protest. He wasn't sure why emotional stuff made you ache, but it seemed worse than spending a day careening a hull, an ache he was more than familiar with. He rolled out of the bunk and went into the head, taking a quick shower, timing himself more out of habit than necessity. He was about to slip back into the clothes he had been wearing the day before when he noticed a small suitcase sitting next to the desk. It looked like the one that had been in the trunk of his rental car. Closer examination showed him that it was the same. He saw his keys lying nearby, and suspected he knew who had gotten them after he had gone to sleep the night before. With a shrug he opened the case and got a fresh change of clothes.

Despite his depression and tiredness from the day before he clearly remembered the way back to Officer's country and Crane's cabin, and he went there and knocked on the door. He heard a summons to enter, and did so, finding Crane at his desk, on the phone. He stood near the door, unsure if Crane wished him to stay, but the young commander waved him to the chair in front of his desk, and with a few more words ended his call. He smiled at O'Bannon.

"I guess I don't have to ask if you slept well." He said.

O'Bannon mock scowled at him. "Well, you said I looked like death warmed over. It takes time for a man to raise from the dead you know, even for a Master Chief." Crane laughed and rose to his feet.

"Are you ready for some breakfast?" He asked, "Cookie should have some cereal and things out in the wardroom. We don't really have formal meals when we are in port but this time because Cookie is on anchor watch he is taking care of dinner and putting things out for the other meals. He can't abide the head cook over at the cafeteria and would rather starve than eat there himself. Once, right after he started, the head chef over there sent a meal down for the admiral when we were here doing a refit. The whole crew was here, and Cookie had the galley up and running like usual. The head chef sent a note saying he figured there was no reason that the admiral should have to eat 'thrown together' food when a 'real' meal was available. The tray somehow ended up in the bay and the two have been at cleavers drawn since then." Crane related with a smile as he led the way to the wardroom.

O'Bannon laughed along with the younger man, knowing how cooks could be. The one that stood out in his mind the most from all his years in the Navy was the first that he had served with, on the Triggerfish and on the Yellowjack after that. He now owned and ran a posh restaurant in New York where the servings were small and the prices high. Michael C. Hanover had gone a long way from being a cook in the Navy, but he still was a 'Cookie' at heart. Crane stopped at the door to the wardroom and motioned the older man through, nearly running into him as the Chief started in only to stop suddenly as he saw who was sitting at the table and waiting for them, a cup of coffee in hand. The very man he had been thinking of, dressed in his usual expensive dark suit. As O'Bannon came to a stop he looked up and smiled.

"Don't just stand there, Master Chief, you're blocking the hatch. It's always bad manners to block your host from the coffee pot, and from what I can recall our young friend there lives on the stuff." He said, rising to his feet and offering his hand. O'Bannon shook off his surprise and stepped forward to shake Hanover's hand. He was vaugly aware of Crane moving toward the coffee pot and standing there watching them, but he was focused on his old friend.

"Why are you here?" He asked as he sank into a chair. Hanover smiled and picked up his cup of coffee, taking a drink before he answered. Sitting this close, O'Bannon could see that Hanover was showing signs of tiredness, that the suit was wrinkled, and the shirt not quite as crisp as usual.

Hanover snorted. "There's gratitude for you. I hop the redeye out of New York to get here and all I get is 'Why are you here?' A 'nice to see you' or 'how you been' would have been asking too much I guess." He looked at Crane. "See I told you he wouldn't appreciate the effort."

O'Bannon waved the protest aside, "When did you become such an old woman? And what are you doing here. Are you out here to see your kids?"

"Not only rude, but thick too." Hanover commented to Crane, who with eyes twinkling, managed to smother a smile by taking a drink of his coffee and then looking at his watch.

"I have to go and brief the maintenance crew. I'll leave you two to talk." With that he quickly walked out of the room. O'Bannon glared after him then at Hanover, who was laughing.

"Okay Master Chief, don't start with the dirty looks. I'm here because our boy there called me and told me what was going on, like you should have done. He called me at the restaurant, and I barely caught the 0200 flight out" He finally said. He rose and got a cup of coffee for O'Bannon, and returned to sit across from him again. "There are others who knew Jed too, O'Bannon. We owe him just as much as you do, and we're ready to repay a little of that debt, despite a hard-headed Master Chief who wanted to do it on his own."

"I didn't want to do it myself, but I…well once I heard the whole story, it was just…" O'Bannon looked at Hanover and jerked his head toward the doorway where Crane had disappeared. "Did he tell you the whole thing?"

Hanover nodded. "Yes. Damn, but sometimes it's hard to be proud of having been in the Navy. Just because they wanted to cover their butts about letting an underage boy enlist doesn't mean that they should just cut him off like he never existed, and that's giving them the benefit of the doubt about exactly why they did it. Now, when he needs it most, they want to ship him somewhere else and treat him like he was a nobody that never did anything. I bet if the skipper were still around he'd be chewing butts between here and Washington, D.C. The Navy needs a few more officers like he was." Hanover pointed a finger at O'Bannon. "I can tell you that whatever we have to do to make sure Jed has the care he needs, we will do. If it means mortgaging the restaurant, I'll do that too. My banker knows I'm good for it." He nodded and then continued, "Jed shouldn't have to be alone now. I called some of the guys this morning while I was waiting for you to get out of the rack. I got three other guys that will be here to sit with him. Between the five of us we can split up the day and the night if they'll let us. They are willing to donate some money too. They all felt good about saving the Triggerfish, and while Jed wasn't part of the old crew, he was part of us for a while, and he saved us all. They feel they owe him, like I do."

O'Bannon's mind whirled as he tried to take it all in. The boy had been busy all right. He felt the weight shifting off his shoulders once more. He had truthfully not thought of calling the others. He should have known, after the response he had gotten when he had put out the call about the Triggerfish, that they were still hanging together, still a crew. He should have called some of the others that lived here on the West Coast, set up a watch rotation. If he hadn't been feeling so sorry for himself…He shook off the thought of that. He was done with the self-pity. If he could believe anything, he could believe Crane when he said that he needn't worry about being alone, and the response he was seeing from his old shipmates showed that the young man was right, in more ways than one. He sighed, and met Hanover's eyes.

"I'm sorry. It wasn't that I didn't think you would help. It was just that I…" He was reluctant to reveal the depth of his selfishness in the face of Jed's impending death.

"You looked at Jed and saw yourself." Hanover said with understanding. At O'Bannon's look of surprise he smiled slightly. "When you reach our age, reminders of our impending end are hard to face. So many friends gone ahead, and who is left to remember us? Our children and grandchildren know us from our middle and old age. Our wives, if they are still with us, hardly remember the men that they married. But in our minds we are still those young men that enlisted, still vital and strong. Who remembers us the same way we do, except for those who were with us then? And now, there are so few of us left." Hanover's dark eyes looked into O'Bannon's. "You may not have family, but you have friends, friends who know the you that you remember."

He sat back in his chair and stretched. "I understand that you got a full night's sleep. If you don't mind, I think that I will take the commander's offer of a bunk and let you take the early shift at the hospital. I'll be down in a few hours after I get over this jet lag." He pushed himself up, and O'Bannon rose with him. "The boy said that you would show me to guest quarters B. I guess we'll be neighbors while we're here. I wonder what Admiral Nelson would say about his boat being turned into a hotel?" The two men continued joking as they went down the corridor. Falling easily back into the comraderie of years before.

Chapter 4-

The watch had gone on for five days now. Jed seemed to rally for a while but then would fade again. Each time his rally was shorter than the last. His doctor said that there would be only a few more cycles before he could no longer continue to cling to life. The men had spent the days and nights with Jed, simply sitting and reading or napping if Jed was sleeping, or reading aloud and talking with him if he were awake. He could barely speak, and was on oxygen continuously, but he loved to have someone there to talk to him. You had only to look into his eyes to know how he valued their presence.

They were still at the Veteran's hospital. O'Bannon had feared that when Jed had first rallied that they would be evicted. While money might no longer be a problem, he could not help but wonder what the effect of moving someone so ill would be. He didn't want to shorten his friend's time in any way. He was searching his mind for some way to keep them there when the doctor had informed him that there had been a mistake in the paperwork. They had received word from the facility administrator that Mr. Blackwell was in fact a veteran, and fully entitled to the services that the hospital offered. They had apologized for the confusion, and had been most accommodating in allowing someone to be with Jed around the clock.

They had added two more to their group of watch standers, those two having heard from the others. Now they sometimes had two men there, allowing for some conversations. Jed seemed to enjoy listening to others reminisce. When they were not with Jed the men were all now quartered on the Seaview. Carne had overridden their protests, though he had made a few comments about 'hot-racking' them if any more of the old crew showed up, saying he was running out of room. All of them were enjoying the opportunity to spend time on the large submarine, though there were sections that they were not allowed to enter, and they had to be careful to stay out of the way of the men doing the maintenance. It offered them all a chance to 'decompress' from the tension and sorrow that seemed to grow in them during their watch.

On the sixth day Jed rallied for what the doctor felt would be the last time. If his rate of decline was consistent, then he would do well for twelve to fourteen hours, and then would start the final slide into death. It was a sad time for all of the men, but they made a commitment to keep it light for Jed. The man knew what was happening, and he tried in his own way to make it easier on the men that had come to his aide. He was on a respirator now all the time, the machine helping him to draw the breath that his body was just too tired to take for itself. But his eyes sparkled with humor, and appreciation, and he had said goodbye to each of them in his own way.

That morning Hanover and O'Bannon were on watch together, and they could tell that Jed was enjoying their banter. It was with some surprise that they looked up from an argument at just before twelve to see the other five men come into the room.

"What are you fellows doing here?" O'Bannon asked.

Anton Brodie, former radio operator, and the man they had relieved earlier in the day, frowned at him. "We got a message that we should meet you here. We thought that it was from you and that it was…" he stopped with a quick look at Jed.

"I didn't send any message." O'Bannon said, coming to his feet he was just about to call the nurses station and see if they had called when the door opened again. Lee Crane stood there, in full class A uniform, ribbons and all. As the jaws of all the men in the room dropped he pushed the door wide and waved in another man in class A's. This man also had all his ribbons showing, and all of his stars on his shoulders. Admiral Harriman Nelson, in full regalia was an impressive sight. Behind him came a small contingent of seaman, also in full dress. They filed in and formed up along the wall near Jed's bed. O'Bannon recognized several of the men, including the COB of the Seaview, Francis Sharkey, who was carrying two small boxes. Bringing up the rear was Lt. Commander Chip Morton, who winked at Crane as he passed. Behind Morton came several of the doctors and nurses who had been working with Jed over the last week and the administrator of the facility, who had come in person earlier in the week to apologize for the confusion and upset. The room was rather crowded. Finally Crane closed the door and went to stand next to Nelson who was standing at the foot of Jed's bed.

O'Bannon and Hanover had come to their feet, watching as all the people came in, mouths agape. After looking at the faces of the doctors and nurses, and the men along the wall, and seeing a sort of anticipation, O'Bannon turned his attention to the man that he figured was the author of this confusion. Lee Crane met his eyes with a gentle smile.

"Begging the admiral's forgiveness, "O'Bannon started with due concern for the ranking officer's station, then turned to the younger man, "But what the hell is going on?" Crane's smile got bigger. It wasn't Crane who answered the question however, but Nelson who stepped forward so that he was standing at the side of the bed, and it wasn't O'Bannon he addressed. Instead he looked at Jed Blackwell.

"Allow me to introduce myself, Mr. Blackwell. I am Admiral Harriman Nelson and I have been commissioned by the President of the United States to right a wrong that was perpetrated upon you many years ago by some officious paper pusher with no understanding of what it meant to be in combat or to risk your life for your shipmates. He did not understand that courage and self-sacrifice are not dependent on skin color or age. It is an error that should have been rectified many years ago. I regret that it has taken so long, and that it comes at such a time for you.

"You may take some comfort in the fact that it was some other anonymous paper pusher's devotion to doing everything in triplicate that allowed us to retrieve your records from an obscure archieve where they had been stored despite being expunged from the official roles. In any event after a cursory reexamination of the facts as submitted by your commanding officer, it became obvious that in addition to the injustice of having been denied the benefits that were advanced to other men who had served as you had, including medical care and educational benefits, you were also denied the recognition of your actions during the battle in which you were injured. I know that you are aware that your veterans benefits have been restored, including the cost of the medical care you are being given here." Nelson gestured to Sharkey who stepped forward smartly and handed him the first of the two boxes. When he had stepped back into line the men snapped to attention, as did Crane and Morton. The older sailors in the room instinctively followed suit. Nelson stepped a little closer to the head of the bed.

"We are not here, however, to apologize for the injustice of the bureaucracy. We are here to honor at long last a man, then only a boy, who was willing to sacrifice his own good for that of his shipmates, who was injured in doing so, and who acted with courage and distinction beyond that of the average seaman." Nelson opened the first box. Inside was a medal that everyone present recognized as a Purple Heart.

"Normally this medal would have been presented to you by your commanding officer in front of your shipmates, so that you could receive the recognition that you deserved. While I am glad that some of your shipmates are here, I hope that you will allow me to say on behalf on your captain that he would have been honored to present this to you." Nelson removed the medal from the box and reached out to pin the medal to the hospital gown that Jed wore. The older mans face was luminous with wonder, and though he couldn't speak, the trembling hand that he raised to finger the medal, and the look on his face was enough to show his feelings. Nelson gave him a moment then reached for the second box as Sharkey stepped forward and offered it.

"Many years ago the congress of the United States saw fit to create a medal that was to be presented to those men and women who through their acts on the field of battle, distinguished themselves from the others who fought there. On January 28th, 1945 the USSN Yellowjack was on patrol in the Western Pacific. She was engaged by a Japanese destroyer and sustained enough damage that she was unable to evade the ship. Her captain put her on the bottom and ordered silence in the hopes that the destroyer would be unable to locate them there, thinking they had either escaped or were destroyed. A sound as seemingly innocuous as a cough or sneeze could have meant the destroyer would zero in on their position and start dropping depth charges again, an action that probably would have resulted in the destruction of the boat. Among the complement of that boat was then Seaman Blackwell. He was a steward on the Yellowjacket, out on his first cruise. He was also assigned to damage control. In the course of performing his duties he came to realize that a leak had started in the pantry off the galley. Despite physical danger to himself, danger that did result in the loss of his fingers and permanent damage to his lungs, and could have resulted in the loss of his life, he remained silent, preserving the lives of his crewmates at the cost of his own safety. This action alone qualifies him as extraordinary. The fact that he was only just over fifteen at that time made it all the more impressive. This being so, it is my honor to present to former seaman Jedidiah Matthew Blackwell the Navy Cross, in recognition of his valiant actions on that day." As he finished Nelson opened the second box, revealing the medal to all in the room. He solemnly removed it from the box and pinned it to the gown next to the Purple Heart.

O'Bannon, still at attention, had to blink rapidly to keep the moisture in his eyes from overflowing. He could not take his eyes from Jed's face as he once again raised a hand and caressed the cool metal and smooth ribbon of the second medal. Pride shone from the sick man's eyes, and tears were running unashamedly down his face. He patted the two medals gently, then raised his hand toward his forehead in salute. The admiral snapped to attention, and saluted him back, as did the rest of the men in uniform. The salute seemed to take the last of Jed's strength and he sank back into the pillows, though his free hand came up once again to rest on the medals. The doctor stepped forward and leaned over the bed. He looked at Nelson and gave a slight nod toward the door. Nelson nodded at him and reached out to gently pat Blackwell's leg. When the sick man offered his hand he took it gently.

"Goodbye Mr. Blackwell. I am honored that I was able to be the one to present to you what you so greatly deserved. I only regret the time it took to do so. I wish you well on the journey that you are about to undertake, and know that you will no doubt be richly rewarded for your courage and fortitude. I am very happy that I got to meet you. A true hero is a rare thing. I have been privileged to meet several in my life, and I count you among them." He released Blackwell's hand and stepped back. He looked at Crane. "Dismiss the men, Commander." With that he turned and left.

Crane looked at Sharkey. "Dismissed, Chief."

"Aye Aye, Sir." Sharkey said and turned to the men. "To the left, face." He barked. The honor guard turned precisely and, following Sharkey's orders, marched out of the room. The various nurses and doctors followed behind leaving the men from the Yellowjack, Crane, Morton, and the doctor. Morton leaned over and said something to Crane who nodded. With a nod of his own to the older men Morton left the room. Crane cast a look at Blackwell and the doctor who was taking some readings from the various machines that were at the bedside, and then back at the older men.

"I understand that you probably have some questions. Perhaps we could step outside and let the doctor do his work. I believe there is a small garden just outside the door down the hall. Maybe we could speak there." He said quietly. O'Bannon looked at the others who nodded their agreement, and motioned Crane to lead the way. The young man did so, leading them down the hall and through a door to a small garden area, where several men in wheel chairs sat enjoying the sun. Nelson and Morton were waiting there, and when they saw the group emerge from the building they joined the parade. Crane led the group to a small area with several benches in the shade of a large tree. He waited as the older men seated themselves and then moved to the center of the area, removing his cover and waiting for someone to speak.

O'Bannon, who had not sat like the rest, came to stand in front of the younger man. He placed his hands on his hips and spoke in the voice that had kept many a crew hopping to follow his orders. "Maybe you could explain yourself, Mister." He barked.

"What would you like me to explain, Master Chief?" Crane asked calmly. O'Bannon thought he saw a spark of humor in the commander's eyes, but his face was expressionless, almost innocent. He thought he heard a smothered snicker from Lt Commander Morton, but a quick glare in that direction showed him only an expressionless mask, though the admiral seemed to be hiding a smile. He turned his attention back to the young man before him.

Before he answered the 'oh so innocent' question, O'Bannon had to pause to sort out his own feelings about what had just happened. Whatever he might have expected as an outcome to this whole thing, this had not been it. At first he had sought out Crane only as a 'port in a storm'. Seeking some peace from his own devils, and the sadness that the situation had fostered in him. Then, after Crane had called the others, and the burden had been lifted a little they had determined that if necessary they would come up with the money to make sure Jed's last days were as good as possible.

It had become apparent that Jed was not going to improve, and that the hospital had abandoned the idea of shipping him out to some other place, so O'Bannon and the others had simply resigned themselves to what amounted to a deathwatch. None of them had thought of anything more than that. They would see their friend out of this world, and see that his remains were taken care of. But now…He was almost overwhelmed by what had gone on in that room minutes ago. He took a deep breath and turned his attention back to Crane who was standing there patiently awaiting his answer.

"Don't play dumb with me, Bucko. It don't become you, and you don't want to be giving the admiral a bad impression of his captain. You know what I mean." He poked a finger in the well-decorated chest, subconciously noticing that two of the ribbons displayed there were the same that had just been presented to Jed. "Obviously you've been makin' a few more calls than I thought. Would you care to tell the class exactly what you've been up to?" He gestured to the rest of his shipmates who nodded, also curious how this had all come about. Crane smiled at him and shuffled his feet like a child called on to give a speech in class.

"You and the others were doing the important work Master Chief. There wasn't much I could do to help Mr. Blackwell personally, so I simply tried to take care of some of the things that you all didn't have time to do. I made a few calls to some people who could help." He said finally. O'Bannon knew the boy well enough to know that this wasn't false modesty. Crane had simply seen a need and took steps to fulfill it. O'Bannon however did not see it that way.

"Exactly who did you call?" O'Bannon asked directly. He saw Crane glance at Nelson who looked away, lighting a cigarette, and at Morton who was not bothering to hide his smile now.

"I have a friend who works in the records department at the Pentagon. He's been working on computerizing the old archieved records, so he had the knowledge of where to look for the records on Mr. Blackwell. After that it was just a matter of getting them reviewed by the right people in the Veterans Administration and they took care of things from there. A few pushes on the buttons and…" Crane came to a stop as O'Bannon raised a hand to stop him. He raised an eyebrow in inquiry. O'Bannon scowled at him.

"As easy as pushin' a button is it?" O'Bannon said, his Irish brough coming out more and more. His shipmates glanced at each other well remembering when that particular accent came out it usually meant no good for the poor seaman caught in the glare. O'Bannon started stalking around the still form of the commander. "And which button do you push to get a Purple Heart and a Navy Cross delivered by an admiral to a poor dyin' seaman who hasn't been enlisted for more years than you been alive? Would that be the same one that got the medical bills paid?" He came to a stop in front of Crane, stretching his shorter frame to bring himself as close as possible to Crane's height. "Would that be the self same button you speak of?"

"Now Master Chief I…" the miscreant started, only to stop again as the hand rose once more.

"Did you, or did you not, get the Veterans Administration to restore Jed's benefits so that the hospital bills would be paid and he could stay here? Yes or no?"

"I certainly didn't do it alone. Master Chief. After I came in and talked to the Administrator, she called my friend in Washington at the records department, and they worked out what had to be done." O'Bannon remembered that Crane had driven him in to the hospital that day after he had told his story. He hadn't realized that the young man had gone to speak to the administrator.

"And the Medals? Don't try to tell me that those were just laying around waiting for someone to pick them up, and the Admiral here was just happened to be passing by and brought them back with him. Which by the way I thought you told me he wasn't due to be back here until next week, and that Lt. Commander Morton was due back the same time. I also notice that Chief Sharkey and some of the crew were suddenly available. It seems that more than a little planning went into this whole thing. When did you find time between doing all them reports and working on that reactor problem that was driving the maintenance boys over the edge?" A throat was cleared from behind him, and O'Bannon looked around to find Nelson on his feet and looking at Crane.

"I would like an explanation about that myself, Commander. It was my understanding that you were going to be doing something else during this liberty, something that did not include reports, or reactors. In fact it was my understanding that given that you had not availed yourself of such an opportunity for the last seven months, that Jaime had made it something of a requirement that you do so."

Crane looked even more like a child on the carpet in front of the principle as he flushed and looked away from the accusing eyes. He briefly sought help with Morton, but his friend's eyes were just as accusing, and he turned back to the two men now before him. He sighed and addressed himself first to Nelson.

"Jaime said I should do something relaxing, and that's what I did." He said somewhat petulantly. Nelson snorted, and retreated from the battlefield in the face of such logic, leaving O'Bannon to his questioning. He could tell by Crane's glance at Nelson and Morton that he knew that the question of what he had chosen to do on liberty was not ended. "Anyway, Master Chief, what exactly is your problem with this? It's what you wanted isn't it?"

"Yes, its what I wanted! Hell, it's more than what I wanted. I only wanted Jed to be allowed to die with some degree of dignity and with the medical care to make him comfortable."

"And that got done." Crane pointed out. "He got the benefits he deserved, and the belated recognition for his actions. I don't see what the problem is Master Chief."

"You don't see…" O'Bannon started, his face turning purple. He couldn't continue, and was saved as Nelson appeared once again at his side.

"Perhaps I could help with some clarification, Master Chief." He said kindly, understanding the Chief's frustration with the suddenly obtuse young man. O'Bannon swung a hand in Crane's direction, unable to speak. Nelson smiled and looked at Crane.

"Perhaps the Master Chief was wondering why you didn't bother to consult him, or indeed any of the others, before you took these steps, Lee. After all Mr. Blackwell was their shipmate, not yours." He suggested reasonably. Crane frowned. He looked in puzzlement between Nelson and O'Bannon. Suddenly his eyes widened and his face flushed then went pale He looked from O'Bannon to the other men from the Yellowjack who had been silent through this whole thing, a look of shame coming over his face.

"I can now see that I owe you all an apology." He started. "While I told myself that I was trying to help and free you all for being here with Mr. Blackwell, I see now that by doing things this way that I have may have made it seem that I thought you all wouldn't, or couldn't, do the same. I can only say that I meant no disrespect, and in no way wished to make it seem that you, any of you, could not have taken care of what needed to be done. It was incredibly thoughtless and arrogant of me, especially at this time. If I have interfered with any of your own plans please let me know and I will do everything I can to set it right." O'Bannon had listened to the apology with disbelief. For such a smart man the boy was incredibly dense. He started shaking his head before Crane even finished.

"Boyo, are you nuts?" he waved to the others. "We haven't had time to do much beside tot up how much it would cost us to have Jed in a regular hospital and have him taken care of right. We just barely managed to get that worked out after a week. That and what we were going to do about…about the remains." The rest of the men nodded. O'Bannon noticed that Crane winced as he added the last. "I'm thinking there's something else you'd like to share with us, maybe?"

Crane frowned and the flush was back in his face. "It's nothing that has to be done, just an option. If you've made other arrangements…"He scowled. "I just didn't think!" He looked around at the curious faces. "I…I contacted someone at the Rosecrans Veterans Cemetary. They are usually not allowing any more burials, but since Mr. Blackwell is a Navy Cross recipient, they are willing to make an exception."

O'Bannon had buried several friends and shipmates at the large and peaceful cemetery in San Diego overlooking the sea. He was well aware that they had stopped taking burials several years ago, and it was with some sorrow that he and the others had resigned themselves to burying Jed in an inland cemetery, away from the sea that he loved. His heart swelled in his chest, almost making it feel as if it would burst. Without warning he stepped forward and threw his arms around the slim form of the young commander. He could feel the man's surprise as he hugged him, and cut short the embrace not wanting to embarrass him further. He stepped back and raised a hand to pat Crane's cheek. He smiled gently into the puzzled eyes.

"I'm, we're, not mad at you, Boyo. Speaking for myself, I'm just overwhelmed. I have no idea how you managed to get everything done that you have, overwhelmed and grateful. It just might have been nice if you could have let us know what you were doing."

Crane's flush had turned to a blush at the affectionate hug and pat, and he gave a shrug. "I just…didn't think of it. I'm sorry Master Chief. If you all have some time, I would be happy to go over with you what I have. Then you all can make the decisions."

"I think that they would like to hear about the medals, Lee" Morton suggested with an evil smile at his friend. Crane glared at him, not wanting to dwell on his overeager interference any more than he had to. But the other men were all nodding, and he bowed to the inevitable.

"Once the records were located and the wheels started turning it was just a matter of seeing that they made it into the right hands and that they knew the whole story. Despite what happened back then, the Navy is proud of the courageous men that fought for this country, in any war, and once they heard the story it started to snowball. Both the admiral and Mr. Morton helped me find the right people to talk to." O'Bannon scowled at what he knew was a gross oversimplification.

"The last time I was in Washington the wait time on medals was measured in months, or even years, certainly not days. That must have been some snowball." He said "Who did you have to blackmail to get it done this fast." The flush was back on Crane's face and Nelson started laughing.

"I believe that you had better let me tell that part of the story Master Chief. I don't believe that the Commander will give you the uncensored version." He said, ignoring the look from Crane.

"As it seems you know, I was in Washington taking care of some Institute business and meeting some old friends who had flown in from Europe. By the time I found out what was going on, from someone else I might add, the commander had stirred up quite the storm in both the Pentagon and at the Veterans Administration. To give them credit the Administration had capitulated in the face of the facts, and proved a small hurdle for one as determined as Commander Crane has proved himself to be. Thus Mr. Blackwell's benefits were restored and the medical services were cleared, as was his privilege of being interred in a Veteran's cemetery. Though I hadn't heard about the Rosecrans, however." Nelson was on his feet and pacing slowly back and forth as he spoke. As he passed by Crane he shot him a smile that grew as he saw the look in the young officer's eyes. He continued,

"Having won that particular battle, he had turned his attention to the Navy and had been rattling cages from the Sec Nav's office on down. In a relatively short time he had managed to get a confirmation that based on the records, the recommendation of Mr. Blackwell's commanding officer, and the testimony of the men that had been on the cruise, that sufficient evidence existed to put him on the list for the medals. Of course as you say, it was then a matter of how long it would be until that actually took place. Knowing that more likely than not any such delay would result in the medals being presented posthumously, the commander started contacting those people that could…expedite the process. When he ran into the regular bureaucratic resistance to doing anything swiftly, that's when the trouble started."

"Admiral…" Crane started to say, only to be hushed by a raised hand. He was quiet, but looked unhappy with it.

"I'm sure that I don't have to share with you all how…focused Commander Crane can be when he has a purpose." There were smiles all around, as they indeed know how the young man was, having seen him in action on the Triggerfish. "Unfortunately, the Navy bureauracracy does not respond well to suggestions that they 'hurry' anything, even for a good cause. As far as they were concerned, Mr. Blackwell had been added to the list and his recognition would come in the appropriate time. This was of course not acceptable to Commander Crane who chose to take a slightly more direct road." Nelson again smiled at Crane who was now carefully looking anywhere else. The flush was back however.

"In the course of his employment with the Institute, and even before then, the commander has come to make some contacts that the average officer does not have. Those contacts include several members of congress, a couple of cabinet members, some very high-ranking members of several of the armed forces, and several Presidents, including the present one. The commander began figuratively knocking on doors, telling Mr. Blackwell's story and in his own not so subtle way making waves.

"It wasn't long before one of the papers in Washington had gotten hold of at least part of the story. I don't need to tell you, Master Chief, how a tempest in a teapot is nothing compared to what can happen when Washington papers get involved in any matter. Before I knew what was happening I had twelve, no thirteen, calls on my cell phone in the space of one hour after the paper broke the story. After returning one of the calls to a particular friend in COMSUBPAC, I had the facts at least as they were known in Washington." his smile grew larger as he saw Crane scowl slightly. He knew that Crane was well aware of who that 'friend' would have been. Crane and Stark were not exactly on a friendly basis, though both had come to respect the other. To have Stark calling Nelson about his activities was not something Crane would appreciate.

"Suffice to say that I quickly put through a call to Commander Crane to get his side of the story. He shared what had been happening here. Of course I could understand his urgency and I was able to pull a few strings of my own, though in a slightly more subtle way. Between the two of us I doubt if we left any stone unturned. If a person had any input at all in the process we contacted them. One tends to think of politicians as being rather unfeeling about the common man, but I am happy to say that we found that bit of human feeling in many of those we spoke to, and in the end, we were able to get the process hurried along. Then it was a matter of my coming back with the medals, stopping to pick up Mister Morton on the way as he wished to attend the ceremony."

O'Bannon was floored by the amount of effort that had gone into producing this day. He had never thought anything like this would happen. As he had said, the most they had thought was to see Jed properly buried. But now… He once again turned to Crane who was watching him with a doubtful look in his eyes. O'Bannon realized that the boy still wasn't quite sure that they didn't resent his "interference". The Master Chief pulled out a handkerchief that he had been forced to use on more than one occasion in the last week, and wiped at his eyes. He folded it carefully and returned it to his pocket. He stepped toward Crane again. Their eyes met for a long moment, and O'Bannon smiled. He was glad to see the doubt fade from the younger man's eyes as he offered his hand, which Crane quickly took. They shook.

"Boyo, I couldn't be more proud of you if you were my own. The things you've done for old Jed, a man you don't even know… I know a lot of men who wouldn't do so much for their own kin. I can't begin to tell you how much it means to me, to the rest of the boys, and most of all to Jed. I know he can't talk, but I've learned to read his eyes in this last week, and his eyes told me how happy and proud he is. He's not long to this world. The doctors say it can be any time now, but I want you to know that you've made this one of the most memorable days of his life, and I want to thank you for me, for us" he waved at the others who nodded, "and for Jed, who can't say it, but I know he feels it." Crane was blushing by this point, but he managed to smile at O'Bannon.

"It was my pleasure and my duty, Master Chief. What was done to Mr. Blackwell was a terrible error. I don't know if it was prejudice, or if the clerk genuinely thought that it was the best thing to do for the Navy, to avoid bad publicity, but it was wrong. All I did in the end was bring it to the attention of the right people, and for once, the system worked for the little man. I'm glad that I could help."

"Help! You could say that." O'Bannon said with a snort and looked at the others. He nodded to Hanover who stood. "Maybe you and Cookie here can go over those arrangements you made. He's been working to find a place. Wasn't having a lot of luck finding the right one. Course, he wasn't looking in the same place you were." O'Bannon took any sting out of the words with a grin. He looked back toward the hospital and sighed. "I better get back inside. Don't want Jed to think we ran out on him." With a final pat to Crane's arm he went back the way they had come.

The rest of the men from the Yellowjack followed, but not before each one stopped to shake Crane's hand and share their own thanks. The blush was steady on his cheeks as they did so. When the last had gone in he looked at Nelson and Morton. Morton was wearing a large grin that only got bigger as Crane glared at him. Nelson, while amused at the response of his captain was able to hide it. He motioned to Morton who stood.

"I think Chip and I will return to the Institute. Perhaps once you are done here you could meet us in my office. I believe we may have a few things to talk over, such as your idea of shore leave."

"Yes sir. I'll be there as soon as I finish with Cookie, I mean Mr. Hanover about the arrangements. It shouldn't take long." Crane said with a small grimace. He knew that he was going to have some explaining to do to the two men. He had little hope that the story wouldn't make it's way back to the CMO too, and then he was really going to be in trouble.

"Take what time you need, commander." Nelson said with a gentle smile, knowing that Crane was nervous about the explanations that were due. "Mr. Blackwell deserves the effort." With that he gathered Morton with a glance and left. Chip gave Crane a pat on the shoulder as he went by. The two remaining men retreated to one of the benches to talk about the final arrangements.

Chapter 4-

The cool sea breeze blew across the rolling green hills of the cemetery. The funeral party was gathered around the newly dug grave, most protected from the falling rain by an awning spread over the area. There were more than could fit under the awning however. Aside from the seven men who had sat with Jed Blackwell over the last ten days of his life, there were almost twenty other men who had served with him on the Yellowjack. Some had come in wheel chairs, others were leaning heavily on canes, but they had come. And with them had come their families, grateful for the gift of life that Jed Blackwell had given them all. A contingent of men from the Seaview also appeared, led by Admiral Nelson. The administrator of the Veterans hospital, and several of the doctors and nurses were also there. Also present was an honor guard from the nearby Navy base. They stood, as still as statues, in the rain as the service was read by a Navy chaplin from that same base. O'Bannon, Hanover, and four of the other men from the watch had carried the coffin here from the hearse, and now stood at the side of the grave as it was lowered slowly into the ground.

The sound of a single bugle rang across the quiet cemetery, the strains of Taps once again sending home a hero. O'Bannon, dressed in a new black suit purchased yesterday, pulled out another handkerchief and tried to discretely dab at the tear that had avoided his hasty blinking. He heard a sniff from his side and looked around to see Hanover performing similar maneuvers. Feeling better knowing that he wasn't the only one, O'Bannon stuffed the handkerchief back in his pocket, and thought back over the last days of Jed Blackwell's life.

As the doctor had said, the rally on that day he had received his medals, had been the last. He had faded slowly over the next two days, and on the third, he had silently slipped away in his sleep. Then it had been a matter of finalizing arrangements, attempting, without success, to find any of his relatives, and then finally coming here to lay the man to rest among his comrades. As the casket reached the end of its journey the honor guard snapped to attention. Soon a four-gun salute echoed across the grounds of the cemetery. The mourners each stepped forward and dropped a handful of dirt on the casket, some dropping roses. Finally all returned to the long line of cars that waited. There would be a gathering for those that wished to attend at a local hall, where all would share their memories of Jed, and that time many years ago.

Hours later the gathering had broken up, and the people had left. Only O'Bannon and Hanover remained of the men who had been staying on the Seaview, the others having returned home. Nelson had reserved two suites of rooms at a beachside hotel in San Diego, insisting on paying for them, and it was to there that they returned after the gathering. Nelson asked the two remaining men to join him for a drink in the suite that he shared with Crane and Morton.

O'Bannon thanked the admiral, but instead looked at Crane and asked him if he felt like a walk on the beach. The younger man had agreed with alacrity despite the rain, and after they had changed, they headed down to the empty beach. The ocean lashed the sands with heavy waves, driven by the storm that was still out at sea. As the two men started down the beach the rain slackened to a drizzle which neither man paid any mind to. They walked for several minutes before O'Bannon spoke.

"Ya know, Boyo, I was feeling pretty bad when I came to you. Along with all that Jed was going through, I let my own fears get me down. I'm a solitary man, and I like it that way, for the most part. I don't need a lot of friends around all the time, not that I wouldn't mind meeting the right woman you understand. If there's one out there that can put up with a man like me. But having said that, I gotta tell you that the last two weeks have been a real eye opener to me." They had come to a place on the beach where a small stream, swollen by the rains, cut across the beach like a river, halting their progress. They turned to walk back the way they had come, and O'Bannon searched for the words that he wanted, needed to say to the quiet man that walked at his side.

"When the boys turned out for the old Triggerfish I figured it was just a way for a bunch of old men to recapture a little of their youth, the glory days when we were young, along with paying the debt that we owed her. Not that I held it against anyone, I was doing much the same. When this all happened with Jed, I never thought…I didn't realize just how strong those friendships you make in times like those are. I also didn't realize how much you could need those friends when it comes down to the end. The prospect of being alone when it comes time…It doesn't appeal."

They had reached the hotel again, but by mutual silent agreement they continued on down the beach. The rain had started again, but they were both well covered, and it didn't matter. They were still the only ones on the beach, and O'Bannon had a moment of amusement thinking of what anyone who might be looking out the windows of the numerous hotels might be thinking as they watched the two men walk along in the rain. He turned his thoughts back to the matter at hand.

"As bad as all this was for Jed, so many good things have come out of it, and I feel almost guilty about that. He loses everything, and I get…" He had to pause searching once again for the right words. "I get the assurance that I am not as alone as I thought." He finally said, stopping and turning to look at Crane. "You gave me that, and I can never thank you enough." Crane shook his head.

"Hal, all I did-"

"All you did was show me that I have friends, GOOD friends that I can count on, and I don't just mean the boys from the Triggerfish or the Yellowjack. Even if all of them go before I do, I know that there is going to be someone who cares that I was here, someone that remembers me, maybe not the same way they do, but just as well. Someone that knows what is important to me, and who will make sure that I go to meet my maker in the way I've chosen and with dignity." He reached out and laid a hand on Crane's shoulder.

"I got a heck of a deal when I went down to the museum that day last year. You not only saved the Triggerfish, you saved me too. In fact it makes me do something that I never have done before, envy another man's lot in life. The admiral made a good choice in you. Maybe better than he knows, but then he's a smart man." He smiled as Crane ducked his head no doubt trying to hide the blush that O'Bannon saw coloring his cheeks. The young man looked up at him through his eyelashes with a mischievious look.

"The right woman Master Chief? Are you on the prowl for a wife? Maybe you won't need me after all." He teased. O'Bannon knew that the boy was trying to take the focus off himself, and allowed the change of subject. He reached up and put one brawny arm around the slim shoulders, gently turning him toward the hotel.

"I'll need you, Boyo. No matter who I might find to warm my bed or my heart, I'll always be needing a good friend." They started down the beach. "What do you think the chances are of taking the Admiral up on that invite? He strikes me as a man as has the good taste to always have a bit of the Irish on hand. I could do with a bit to warm my old bones after being out here trampin' in the rain. Don't know why I let you talk me into it…"

He kept up the light patter as they headed back to the hotel, and he enjoyed the laughter that he shared with the young man at his side. He could use a drink, and maybe something to eat, but it wasn't to warm him up. He was already warm. Warmed from inside as he was by the caring of old friends and new. In his mind were the words that Jed had written with a shaky hand before he had sunk into the final darkness.

"No way to repay" Jed had written. "Only thanks. Best Day." The words were hard to read, and it had taken the last of his strength, but he had insisted on writing it.

"No, thank you, Jed." O'Bannon sent a silent thought to the comrade they had just laid to a well deserved and honorable rest, "It looks like I'm in your debt again. Just like you did over forty years ago when you risked your life to keep us all alive, you've given me a future."

The End.